Peace swirled through the room at the sight of the precious parchment in my grasp. Years of running, of being uncertain of their safety, disappeared, faded from their expressions, and slowly but surely, smiles spread, contagious, until Janelle giggled.
“Bartholomew, a lighter if you please?” I asked politely.
He scrounged in his drawer and handed it over. “Why certainly, young lady.”
Giddiness erupted in my chest and I flicked the lighter, creating a small flame, representing hope for our families. I brought the flame closer to the scroll, the fire licking the air.
Two seconds later, a canister shattered the office window and rolled across the floor. Smoke hissed and released. I dropped the lighter and the scroll.
And just like that, hope evaporated.
Forty-four
The rolling canister came to a stop and then two more followed. Entrails of smoke rose in the air. Bartholomew sped into action. He pulled open a drawer hidden under the desk and tossed a gun to each member of his family. “For defense only. Aim to injure not to kill. Unless your life is in danger.”
Will and Bartholomew pressed their bodies against the desk and with one giant heave pushed the massive piece of mahogany over on its side. Their actions were robotic as if they’d planned for situations like this over the years, each of them part of a well-oiled machine, working together, no doubt or hesitation.
“Suitcases are ready.” Janelle called through the rising smoke as she dragged several of their suitcases behind the desk, her actions calm and rational.
“Great.” Bartholomew smiled at Janelle, reassuring her that everything would be okay. “Mom, over here, now!”
Edith hobbled over behind the desk, just a cog in the wheel. She stood by the desk, waiting, with a calm reserve I wished would extend to me. Malcolm stood with his family even though his body shuddered with pain.
More glass shattered and shards scattered across the floor. One piece skittered until it stopped by my feet. Hands seemingly detached from bodies punched through the glass until the window was a clear opening.
With whoops meant to strike terror in our hearts, a flood of men in black masks poured through, a greasy black river tumbling, rushing, and covering the room. I pressed against the wall.
Smoke? I searched the room. The canisters shouldn’t have caused this much smoke. A burning smell reached my nostrils. The carpet was on fire. Flames shot up off it from a blackened mass in the center. The scroll! The lighter! The two must’ve connected after the attack.
I coughed and waved at the smoke. Bartholomew and Will stood at the forefront, and the rest of his family, and Adamos and Mom flanked their sides forming a triangle.
Will ran into the attackers. He punched and kicked with precise aim to take them down. Bartholomew rammed the barrel of his gun into their heads, and they stumbled back. Before they could recover, Janelle shot at their knees, crippling them further. When one drew any closer, Edith jabbed her cane into their side.
The whirlwind of fear in my chest slowed and dwindled to just a few wispy breezes and surging in its place was determination. It filled my chest and sent what felt like supernatural strength to my arms and legs. This was it!
I sucked up any pain and stepped in line behind Mom and Adamos. Monks slipped through the cracks and attacked from behind.
I yanked a standing lamp from the wall and swung at any dark form that came near, taking them out one at a time.
Then I felt an explosion in my head as a fist connected with my temple. I stumbled back and bumped into Mom. The lamp clattered to the floor. She flipped around, and relief filled her eyes.
“Escape is the only option,” she hissed. Her face came alive with emotion, her love apparent. “This is only partly our fight. I care more about us making it out alive. Go to the back bedroom and I’ll meet you there.”
“I want to fight with you,” I mumbled as my head throbbed.
Mom gave me a gentle push then turned and kicked an attacker in the stomach. She brought her fists down on the back of his neck. He slumped to the floor. I backed to the far wall and inched my way along the edge.
A buzzing sounded in my ears and numbness vibrated in my chest. Ribbons of smoke twined through the room. The battle raged with grunts of pain and anger and the overpowering smell of sweat, blood and fear. The monks were contained but still fighting. Where was Malcolm? Was he hurt?
I dove into the middle of it, frantically dodging and ducking any stray fists. I spun in place and studied each and every face. Janelle and Edith were gone. Bartholomew, Will, Malcolm and Adamos were the only ones left still involved in the fight. They beat back the monks inch by inch. But it was the fire engulfing the room and the blast of heat that sent the attackers fleeing back through the window they’d entered.
I heard a weak moan off to the side, near the door. Mom sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, holding her side. “Mom,” I whispered and ran to her. I hooked my arms underneath her and pulled her to her feet.
“No, Savvy! Save yourself. Go. Run away. Adamos will take care of you. Find your dad.”
“No way. We’re partners, remember?” I dragged Mom through the kitchen to my bedroom in the back of the house. My shoulder throbbed, and my mind was fuzzy from the smoke.
I slammed the door shut and brought Mom over to my bed. That was when I noticed the knife, still in Mom’s grasp. I gently pried it from her fingers, then limped over to the door and leaned against it, my head tilted back. My eyes dropped closed and I became aware of the small things. The thumping of my heart. Each drop of sweat that slid down my face. The smell of blood that tickled the back of my throat.
And a knife clenched in my hand, stained with the blood of our enemies.
Forty-five
We had to get out of there and escape into the night but my heart ached at what I’d be leaving behind. Mom lay across the covers, her hand still on her side, her breathing shallow. Blood seeped through her fingers.
Mom had been right about Will the whole time. He’d talked to her with such disdain and mockery, the hate reflected in his eyes. He probably enjoyed luring me into his family just to secretly stab at Mom’s weaknesses: her relationship with me.
I placed the knife on the nightstand. With fast and jerky movements, I yanked opened the window and threw blankets over the hard edge to soften it for our escape. But one glance into the backyard and the multiple shadows surrounding the house and I slammed the window closed. The hard sound of wood against wood sent the truth spiraling through me. We were trapped. We drove the monks from the house only for them to surround us.
The door burst open and crashed against the back wall. Will staggered into the room, his knees bent and arms ready for action. Blood soaked his shirt where Mom had stabbed him earlier.
Smoke curled into the room behind him. Heat followed on its tail. Heat? Smoke? Holy crap. The fire had spread past the rug in the office. I peeked around Will and saw flames leaping into the kitchen.
“You,” he muttered, swaying in a threatening way like he was about to charge.
My head knew what to do. Will had trained me exactly for situations like this except my body couldn’t respond. In my mind, I saw myself grabbing the lamp and smacking him in the head with it.
“I really don’t want to hurt you,” I stated with a confidence I didn’t feel.
He swayed closer, his eyes focusing on my mom.
I moved in front of her. “I suggest you find your family. But thanks for stopping in to make sure we’re okay.”
He waggled a finger at me and laughed. “You always were a bit clueless. From the very start you were like clay in my hands, ready to be what I wanted you to be. I expected a bit more of a challenge to be honest.”
I slowly stepped back and with one hand felt for the lamp but I felt in slow motion.
“Just like your mom. Silly putty, the both of you. We should’ve done away with the both of you last year. But no,” he mocked, “Malcolm had to go and fall
in love or what he thinks is love.”
He advanced toward me. His body tensed, and his face was a mask of anger. “And my little brother wanted to leave the family. Because of you.” He pointed right at my chest as if his finger was a gun. “I’m not going to let that happen.”
“If you hurt either of us,” I threatened. “Malcolm will never forgive you and you’ll lose him anyway.”
He laughed and his tone needled the edges of my heart. The rational side of Will, the trained assassin had disappeared. Malcolm had taught me to keep my emotions in check, to not fight based on impulse, but Will was breaking all those rules. This was personal for him. Maybe because Mom had stabbed him, or maybe because she’d gotten away from him in the past. I’d probably never know the whole truth but I knew one thing: over my dead body would he lay a finger on my mom.
I flipped back the strands of hair that had fallen loose. “You’re an ass. Jealous that Malcolm has a heart and you have a cold stone sitting in your chest that no one will ever love but your mother. And even that’s doubtable.”
“Savvy, no!” Mom warned, her voice weak.
He lunged and his arms wrapped around my legs. My back smacked into the small nightstand, the lamp within reach. My body buzzed. He whipped out a pistol and aimed it at my chest as he stumbled back toward the door.
“I’ll tell Malcolm you said good-bye.”
The black end of the pistol mesmerized me as I stared death in the face, like it had control over me. A dark flash entered the room. The pistol went off. The echo rang in my ears. I waited for the searing pain to enter my chest.
But the pain, the tearing of flesh and the blood never came. Will was flat on the floor, and the gunshot had exited through the window. Adamos towered over Will. Our eyes met. Adamos’s were filled with love and strength as he slightly bowed to me as if he had now fulfilled his promise by saving my life.
Will grunted and moved. He rolled over and put three bullets in Adamos’s chest. Immediately, blood flowed, and the dark red spread and stained. Adamos stumbled then collapsed to the floor.
“No!” I screamed.
The sad grieving part of my brain pressed to the back and survival instinct kicked up a notch. It was almost as if I stood outside my body watching. I grabbed the lamp and crashed it against Will’s head. He deflected part of it with his arm. Pieces shattered onto the floor. I kicked the pistol from his hand and it skimmed across the floor and into the hallway.
“You bitch.” He lunged again, his hands aiming for my throat.
At the last second, I grabbed the knife and held it out for protection. Will had his eyes on me, focused for the kill. He rammed forward and the knife sank into his stomach. He glanced down and then looked back at me, his eyes wide.
I gasped. Shock rippled from my fingertips and up my arm.
Pain crossed his face but he reached his hands around my throat anyway and squeezed. It only took seconds for my lungs to scream for air. Black spots danced in front of my eyes. I didn’t have time to think about right or wrong. My hands still on the hilt of the knife, I twisted and shoved it deeper, stealing any chance for him to recover. Blood poured out and covered my hands. His grip loosened. I lifted up with my arms and twisted deeper and finally Will slumped over. I pushed him off.
Malcolm stood at the doorway, his arms resting on the wall, holding up his weakened body, his face a mix of shock and anger.
Forty-six
Mom was talking, but I didn’t have time to read her reaction or figure out what she was trying to say. I didn’t have time to figure out if I’d lost Malcolm forever. I zeroed in on Adamos and the curtain of red covering his chest. I rushed over and dropped to my knees. I stroked his hair and followed the line of the curl. Soothing words slipped out and covered him as I tried to keep him with me.
He tried to talk but gurgled as blood dripped from the corner of his mouth, then the words coughed out in spurts. “It’s an honor. To protect you.”
“Maybe we can slip through their line. We’ll rush you to a hospital or Mom and I will nurse you back to health like before.”
“This isn’t Paris,” he murmured.
I held onto him, my grip around him fierce and protective like if I held on tight and willed him to live then he would. The words built in my chest and rose, screaming through my throat but choking out in a whisper. “No!”
I felt the soft touch of a hand on my cheek, stopping the tears. Malcolm crouched next to me, his face grimaced with pain and he spoke with urgency. “The fire is spreading. We need to get out.”
Adamos tried to move and groaned. “Listen to him.”
“We can’t.” I spoke without looking at Malcolm. “They’re waiting for the smoke and fire to drive us out.”
Malcolm gently tried to loosen my hold on Adamos. “If you stay, you forfeit everything you’ve fought for. If you stay, his life, his sacrifice will be worth nothing.”
His words hit home, tearing a hole in my chest so big it could never heal. I hugged Adamos one more time, not caring about the wet feel soaking into my shirt.
He mumbled.
“What?” I asked.
Malcolm tugged at my arm, pulling me to my feet. “Let’s go. Now!”
I turned to Malcolm. “Get my mom. I’ll be right there.”
He glanced into the smoke and fire spreading to the kitchen. The giant flickering tongues licked the air, devouring anything it could find. “Fine.” He rushed to my mom’s side.
I fell back down near Adamos, studying his face. I traced his cheek and gazed into his chocolate eyes, memorizing every feature. “What did you say?”
He tried to talk but choked on the blood.
“Shh. It’s okay. I’m here.” I rubbed his arm.
He lifted his arm up to his neck and tried to grasp the chain of a necklace, fumbling with it. I pulled it out for him and found a locket.
“You want me to take this?” I squeezed his hand.
He closed his eyes, then opened them. I yanked it off and hid it in my hand, gripped tight. Then he groaned and his head rolled back. I put my arms around him, my throat burning with emotion, not caring about the blood or mess and kissed his cheek as his last breath wheezed from his chest.
“Thank you.” I stroked his cheek. “For everything.”
I pushed to my feet, swaying. My head felt heavy and my body sluggish. Adamos was gone. Already a dull ache resided inside, the part of me that used to feel safe, knowing he was always looking out for me.
Malcolm appeared by my side and slipped his hand into mine and squeezed. I barely felt it and didn’t respond. My hand lay limp in his grasp and my stomach churned at the thought that he was touching the remains of his brother’s blood.
Malcolm spoke. “Do you trust me?”
I paused before answering. Did I? Throughout all the games we’d played with each other, the times we hadn’t trusted and made mistakes, in this moment, with kindness in his eyes, I trusted him. “Yes.”
Mom cleared her throat behind Malcolm. “Our hands will be completely tied if we get caught up in an investigation.”
Malcolm motioned for us to follow him. “You’re going to have trust me on this one, both of you. Cover your mouth with your arm and try not to breathe the smoke. We have to go through the fire to reach the escape hatch.” He covered his mouth with the crook of his elbow. “It’s the only way.”
“But,” Mom argued, but I held up a hand.
“I trust him, Mom.” And I moved into the smoke-laden room despite what logic would say.
We moved quietly and I looked away from the flames, the burning and collapsing furniture, and the memories. Smoke made it past my arm, filled my throat and stung my eyes. I coughed, and Malcolm moved faster, walking with a limp, favoring the side with the bullet wound.
“Duck down,” he ordered.
We all scrambled through the hallway, crouched over, to escape the worst of the billowing black smoke that carried the smell of death. Mom gripped the back of my shirt and
I held onto Malcolm’s, and like a slow-moving train we made it to the office. The smoke was worse and half the roof had collapsed, some of the smoke escaping through the gaping hole. Debris and plaster lay on the floor, curled black from burning. Malcolm ran to the desk, stepping over the bodies littering the floor. The fight had ended and everyone scattered due to the fire.
“Down. Now. My parents and grandmother are ahead of us.”
The escape hatch behind the desk was open and a ladder led down into darkness. A cold draft of air wafted up and I didn’t hesitate. Each rung beneath my feet meant security for our lives. Mom followed and then Malcolm, who stumbled the last couple rungs. When we were all standing on the dirt floor of a tunnel, he pressed a button and the hatch closed.
He grabbed a headlamp from the wall, and then we stumbled down the tunnel. We didn’t talk but stayed within the confines of our own thoughts. Sadness weighed in the air but I felt immune. Untouchable. Numb. I rubbed the locket tucked in the palm of my hand over and over. The smooth metal soothed me and kept my thoughts clear of emotion. This was the spot where Will must have lived, free and clear, and I understood why he kept himself free of emotional entanglements. About a hundred feet away, Malcolm stopped and I bumped into him. He groaned.
“Sorry,” I said.
“Hey, Savvy,” Malcolm whispered, the light from his headlamp flickering around the earthen walls.
“Yes.”
“Do you really trust me?”
My heart fluttered. “Yes.”
He looked at Mom and me, hope glittering in his eyes. “Are you ready to escape your lives? Start fresh?”
Mom waited for me to answer. I bit my lip. “What do you mean?”
“Kaboom,” he whispered, his hands spreading, and that was all he needed to say for me to understand.
For the first time, I noticed the shadow of the black box on the wall and the wires leading back the way we came. The house must’ve been rigged for a quick escape, just like Malcolm was good at, like his tree house, like the boat. We could leave and no one would ever know who was here or what happened when our bodies weren’t found. But doubt hovered and the dried blood on my hands, Will’s blood, prevented me from saying yes.
Heart of an Assassin (Circle of Spies) Page 19
